


Tonight, We'll Light Up the Stars

by sleepingheartsawake



Category: Austin & Ally
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingheartsawake/pseuds/sleepingheartsawake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>// though time may make fools of us all// Ally and Austin and the summer after graduation. They have changed, but in a lot of ways, they have changed together. Three-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Know That You are Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any characters. Title is from the Goo Goo Dolls' "All That You Are." The song lyrics included are from Jenny & Tyler's "Song for You," which is just absolutely amazing. Please check it out.

"Your tassel goes on the other side," she says, reaching up and moving the blue and green fringe attached to his cap. Her thumb lingers over the engraved number. "We haven't walked across that stage yet."

"Graduation," he says, sighing. "Freedom. I can almost smell it."

"Oh, sorry, that was me," Dez says, walking by. He laughs. She rolls her eyes.

"I can't believe we're here," she states, quietly, looking around at the people and the balloons and the banners proclaiming congratulations and excitement.

"I know. It doesn't seem like that long ago you were busting me for playing drums and eating corndogs in the store," he gives a small chuckle.

"And stealing my song."

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?" he asks, smiling.

"No. Never," she smiles back.

The principal calls for the graduates to line up and she exhales.

"You gonna be okay up there?" he questions, seeing her physically tense at the thought of walking across the stage.

"We'll see," she says. She has gotten better, she has. She can do this.

He reaches out and gives her hand a squeeze. "You've got this. Just look at me the whole time."

"How do you know that will work?"

"Well, you can sing in front of me, right? So just imagine we're in the practice room singing and it's just you and me," he suggests.

"Just you and me," she repeats.

She finds his eyes when they call her name and she makes it across the stage with only a minor stumble over the potted plant (who puts a potted plant in the middle of a graduation ceremony anyway?) and he laughs only a little. She's momentarily upset until she realizes that she's laughing too and that really, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter?

* * *

She loves the feeling that she gets when she performs. The air enters her lungs and her fingers dance over the keys as she sings for invisible crowds and silent audiences and she is, for that moment, completely free.

(She doesn't tell him this though. Performing has always been his thing.)

There are times like right now, with her graduation gown folded neatly on top of her yearbook (binding broken from one too many people handling it), where she just sits down and plays. There are no lyrics, just the smooth melody pouring out of her and her soft hums echoing in the distance.

And everything is perfect.

"That's a new one," he says from the doorway.

She stops abruptly.

"Didn't hear you come in."

"Didn't think I'd find you here on graduation night. I thought we were going to hit up Brock's party?" he asks, walking across the room and sitting on the bench next to her, in his spot, the one that years of late night writing sessions have christened as 'his.'

She shrugs. "I needed to be here for a while." She looks at him and she knows he understands. Sometimes she just needs to be alone with her thoughts, her songs, her private hymns.

"Play me something?" he asks.

So she continues the melody that she had been working on and he slowly starts humming along.

Eventually she stops and silence engulfs them. It's uncomfortable. They aren't used to silence.

"It's not going to be the same, is it?" he asks, staring forward.

"No," she replies. "It isn't." She can't look at him.

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" he asks, with a small chuckle.

"Because you got into Eastman. You don't say 'no' to Eastman."

"And you got into Berklee College of Music. You don't say 'no' to Berklee," he counters.

"No, I guess you don't," she says, finally looking at him. He looks at her too.

"This isn't goodbye yet, you know. We have the whole summer. And we'll go to the beach and write music and hang out," he states. She's not sure which one of them he's trying to convince, but she thinks it isn't working for either of them.

"I know, it's just . . . I don't. I don't want to lose you," she says, staring at her hands.

"You're never gonna lose me, Ally," he says quietly.

They sit, without speaking for a few moments.

Finally he clears his throat. "I have the same fear, you know. I don't want to lose you either." His voice sounds hollowed out, shaken.

She doesn't know why she does it, but she reaches out and takes his hand. She's half surprised when he doesn't pull away, but instead tightens his grip.

They sit side by side, faces forward, hands interlocked for one breath, then two.

"How do we avoid losing each other?" she asks.

"We stay together."

"Together?" she questions. "I don't know what that looks like."

"Me either. We'll figure it out," he asserts.

She looks into his eyes then. He always was good at propelling them forward. And they are moving forward, whether she's ready or not.

"Okay," she says, exhaling.

"Okay."

"Did you want to go to the party now?" she asks.

"Nah. I'd rather stay here with you," he says.

She smiles a small smile. "Me too."

They write a new song that night, one about holding on and letting go, a song about being caught somewhere between the present and the future. It gets late and the next thing she knows she is waking up curled up next to him on the small couch in their practice room.

_I'm holding you closer than most_ , she sings in her head, but she realizes that she has no idea how to let go of the boy sleeping next to her.

* * *

Summer comes and they spend it well. Hanging out with Trish and Dez, writing music, playing gigs across town; she even works on her tan a bit (a bit, not a lot, the dangers of too much sun exposure are significant, she reminds him). His tan looks flawless of course, especially under the bright lights.

He smiles at her from his place on stage. He's singing the first song they ever wrote together. It was years ago now, but for some reason he always plays it whenever he's doing a full set. It's not even their best song, but there's just something about it that they just keep coming back to. That song, with its lyrics about breaking down walls and taking chances, is different now. He plays it slower and only on the piano; there are no background vocals or drums. It's a ballad now. It's their private ballad now.

She shouldn't be surprised. Of course the song would be different, because they are different. At eighteen, he four inches taller and at least a little more mature. He takes his music even more seriously and is working hard to craft a more unique sound. She's different too. Her hair is longer and she no longer reveres pickles as a separate food group. She's actually learned to like the horror movies he loves (although she will never be able to get behind Zaliens 10-12. Enough is enough, she tells him). And she can sometimes be on stage in front of people. Sometimes.

They have changed, but in a lot of ways, they have changed together.

He finishes his set and the crowd is enthusiastically applauding. He gives his traditional bow before holding out his hand in her direction and clapping himself. She sighs. She hates it when he does that, but she appreciates how important it is to him that she is recognized.

Later they'll split a brownie sundae at the ice cream shop and she'll realize that this is one of her favorite moments, when the glow he radiates from performing is so blinding that it almost hurts her eyes. In these times, she can tell that he is in love with every part of life. It's contagious and makes her heart feel like it is exploding out of her chest.

"Austin?" she says.

"Fine, fine, you can have the last bite," he concedes, smiling.

"No, it's not that."

He waits patiently for her to continue while scooping up the remaining ice cream.

"Let's do something crazy," she says. He chokes a little bit. She is Ally Dawson, straight-laced keener girl who colors within the lines. She only crosses the street in crosswalks and she eats five fruits and vegetables a day. Usually. But today, today is different.

"Crazy?" he asks and his eyes are twinkling.

She nods. "Crazy," she says and she can't keep the grin off of her face.

* * *

It's after midnight when they get in the car, but they stock up on caffeine and good music and hit the road. (She makes them leave notes for their parents, because they may be doing crazy things but one of them still has to be a little responsible.)

They arrive in Key West at about five a.m. and he turns to her and says, "What now?"

"Now we sleep for a few hours. It doesn't open until nine."

"What doesn't?" he asks. He's genuinely curious, because this is so not like her but it is so like him. She thinks he's rubbing off on her.

She grins. "You'll see."

They sleep in the car for a couple of hours, waking up to her cell phone alarm. They get a quick breakfast and head down to the shore, and his eyes get wide when he sees what she has planned for them.

"Are you kidding me?" he shrieks. "Ally, seriously?" He's like a little kid in a candy store and she can't help but laugh.

"Not kidding. We're doing this."

He hugs her so tightly she can barely breathe and within an hour, they are strapped into jetpacks, ready for takeoff.

(She had found the Jet Pack Adventures website a few months earlier when she was looking for props for Dez's latest video. As she watched the videos of people flying high over the ocean, she was mesmerized. And terrified. It became a sort of distant dream that she knew she wanted, but that she didn't want alone. She wanted him with her. So here they are.)

"Are you ready?" he calls out to her.

She nods and tries not to look too scared.

He reaches out and takes her hand.

"Are you?" she counters.

"Oh yeah!" he shouts as the water jets propel them high into the air.

* * *

"That. Was. Amazing," he says as they walk up the boardwalk. "I can't believe we did that!"

"I know! The feeling of just being completely weightless as if nothing could hold me back. It, it was incredible!" she says. They are talking a mile a minute about the view and the blood rushing to their heads and how amazing it felt to feel nothing at all, and neither can seem to stop as the adrenaline courses through their veins.

"Best day ever," he says, as they collapse on a bench.

He pulls out his cell phone and switches it to camera mode.

"We need to document this," he states, before pressing his cheek against hers and snapping the shot.

She smiles as she looks at the photo; he is sporting his traditional Austin "what up" face and she's smiling as she looks at him. She pauses when she sees herself. There's something different about this picture from the hundreds of others they have taken, but she's not sure what it is.

"So what now?" she asks. "Do you need to get back home? There's not a show tonight. . ."

He looks around thoughtfully and then back at her. "Let's stay."

"Stay?"

"Yeah, why not? Our own little mini vacation."

It's mid-July and they both know what is coming at the end of August, but she wills herself not to think about it.

So instead she nudges her shoulder with his. "Let's do it."

* * *

She drags him to the Butterfly Conservatory (she is still Ally after all, cloud watching, butterfly loving Ally). The butterflies take little notice of her, but they _love_ his blonde hair, and he can't get them to stop landing on his head. She takes photos of him with her phone and texts them to Trish and Dez. Trish responds right away with _Where are you?_ and she realizes that they hadn't even thought to invite their two best friends.

She doesn't have much time to ponder that, however, since he declares that he gets to choose what they do next. He rents them bikes and they ride around the streets for a couple of hours soaking in the sun and she doesn't even worry about what the UV rays are doing to her skin (much).

They hit up a pub for dinner and he (unsuccessfully) tries to buy them drinks.

"You're too eighteen," she says when he returns dejected, and she ruffles his hair. She's secretly glad he was rejected. She has no idea what alcohol will do to her but she suspects she'd be kind of a crazy drunk, singly loudly and badly dancing on tabletops. She shudders at the thought.

While they're waiting for their food, a man gets up on stage and sets up a microphone.

"Ally, I think it's open mic night," he says, excitedly.

"Are you going to sing something?" she asks.

"Not me. _We_ ," he says, gesturing back and forth between the two of them.

"Austin. . ."

"Ally, come on. It'll be perfect. No one here knows us at all, so we could go up there and bomb and it wouldn't be a big deal," he says.

"You know I can't. . ." she states.

"No, I know you _won't_ ," he interrupts.

She pulls back a little when he says that.

"Do you not remember The Helen Show?"

"I remember that that was three years ago."

"Austin, I just can't," she says, looking at the stage and the microphone standing up there, lonely and intimidating.

He shakes his head as if he's disappointed in her.

"I thought you wanted to do something crazy," he says. "Well this is crazy."

She still isn't convinced and stares at him.

He exhales and lowers his voice, leaning closer to her. "Ally, I've always wanted to sing with you. Really sing with you. On stage, not just in front of Dougie the Dolphin in our tiny practice room. And come August. . ."

Come August they won't have the opportunity any more. She knows this.

"It just something I've always wanted," he finishes.

She narrows her eyes. He knows what he's doing; he's calculated exactly what she needs to hear to concede, preying on a combination of nostalgia for the past and the desire to make him happy.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but okay," she says, softly.

He looks quickly at her. "Okay?"

"Okay, yeah," she tries to muster up a smile, but it doesn't matter. His smile is big enough for both of them.

Ten minutes later, he's holding a guitar on stage and she's standing next to him, microphone strategically placed in front of her face. She looks out into the crowd of people, but can only see lights. She's grateful that her audience is as unknown and silent as the imagined one in the practice room.

"Hi everyone. I'm Austin M—" he starts with his traditional opening before stopping. He clears his throat. "We're Austin and Ally. This is a song we wrote a while ago. It's called 'Song for You,'" he says, before playing the opening chords.

He begins singing and she inhales sharply before joining in. She was concerned that her harmonies would be a little rusty but once she starts singing, everything flows with ease.

_My voice you didn't know, didn't know_  
I called you had to go, had to go  
Back to your little world  
Where nothing is strange 

_You set out on your own, on your own_  
You said, I'm heading home, heading home  
Back to the life you know  
Neatly arranged 

_I have done for you_  
Everything my love  


When they sing the first chorus, she realizes that _she is singing a chorus_ _in front of people_ and she momentarily falters, but she locks her eyes with his.

She doesn't look away. Neither does he and the music flows around them, to the farthest-most corners of the bar and back again.

_Hear my song for you_  
I will not hold my tongue  
Open your heart, open your heart  
For I have loved you from the start 

As she sings with him, she loses track of the lights and the people she knows are behind them. They aren't there. Nothing is there but him and her and the song that they both created. The song that they are breathing life into and pouring out into the world.

"Open your heart," he sings.

"Open your heart," she joins in.

"For I have loved you from the start," they finish together.

She doesn't look away from him, she can't. The song is over, but she is still right there in the middle of it, with him. Eventually the applause, much louder than any she can remember, snaps them out of their trance and she turns to look at the crowd. The lights dim a bit and she can seem them now. She almost runs off stage, but he grabs her hand and together they bow.

They leave the bar and stumble out into the street and don't say anything.

He still has a tight grip on her hand but in the shadows of the streetlight, she can't see his face.

"Austin?" she finally says, tentatively and he turns to look at her, dropping her hand. He looks angry.

"What the hell was that, Ally?"

"What do you mean? I made it all the way through," she states.

"Not that. That, that. . ." he points back to the pub, "That was the best experience I have ever had performing. I don't understand."

She doesn't know what to say to that.

"I mean, all these years I have been playing by myself and singing by myself, when I should have been singing and playing with you," he states, obviously frustrated.

"What? I can't do that normally," she says.

"You just did! I mean, didn't you feel it too? As if nothing else mattered but the song. We fit perfectly up there. I knew it. The audience knew it. I have never heard applause that loud. It was just. . ."

"Right," she finishes quietly.

He nods. "It was right," he says more softly. "But I don't understand why you been depriving me _and yourself_ of this experience all these years," his voice rising with every word.

"You don't get to be mad at me about this!" she responds. "I have been working very hard to get to this point. And I'm still not cured of my stage fright. It doesn't just magically go away, Austin."

"Do you want this?" he asks.

And she has to ask herself that same question. Does she? What does she want?

"I don't know," she mumbles.

"What?" he practically yells.

"I don't know what I want!" she yells back.

He shakes his head. "That's a lie."

"Fine, maybe it is. But nobody ever goes after everything they want, Austin. It doesn't work that way. I'm sure there are things that you want that you haven't gotten!" She's yelling louder now. It's strange; they don't usually yell at each other.

"Of course there are. But that doesn't mean that I don't try for them," he states.

She looks at him skeptically. "Who's lying now? You don't always try, because sometimes you are too scared of what the outcome might be."

The conversation has drifted away from music now and they both know it.

Now, it's about them.

"Can you blame me?" he asks.

"No, I guess not. It goes both ways," she says, trying to accept some culpability.

"Does it?" he questions.

And just like that, things are different again.

"Yes," she says with as much confidence as she can muster for the actual question he is asking. The one they have been dancing around for as long as she can remember. She looks right at him, refusing to budge, refusing to even blink. "Yes, it goes both ways."

He takes a step closer to her then and reaches down, cupping her face with his hands. Instinctively, her arms wrap around his waist and he kisses her softly. It's tentative at first; after all, they've been best friends for years and you don't go around kissing your best friend.

But then.

Then, it's as if someone turns the volume all the way up and he's pulling her closer and closer and she's running her fingers through his hair, then wrapping her arms completely around his neck, as he deepens the kiss. She's practically stepping on his toes as he holds her up and his mouth is moving quickly over hers, faster and faster. They haven't kissed before but now it's as if they've forgotten how to do anything else. Eventually he pulls away and looks at her, his face a mixture of surprise and excitement.

She's not sure what she looks like because all she can hear is her heartbeat and a small voice chanting over and over again . . .

"August," she says quietly.

"I don't care," he says back, before he kisses her again.

And really, the tingling feeling that spreads from her hair to her toes when he kisses her and the way that the crooks of her arms seem to fit perfectly around his neck and the fact that every single part of her body melts perfectly into his, makes her not care either.

She knows that she will care later. That she will realize that she changed everything for this and that she could very well be setting herself up to have her heart broken.

But this is _him_ and _her_ and right now, that's all she needs to know.

* * *

End of Part One.

* * *

__


	2. Though Time Will Make Fools of Us All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t own Austin & Ally. Title is from Goo Goo Dolls’ “All that You Are.” The song mentioned is Jenny & Tyler’s “Song for You,” which is completely amazing. This was going to be only a two-shot, but it has gotten really long, so it’s now a three-shot. Hope that is okay with everyone!

There is no hurricane. The earth isn't shaking and there's no tornado destroying every landmark around them. From the passenger seat in his car, the view looks the same, but everything has shifted, hasn't it?

It takes them almost twice as long to get back home because he keeps pulling over the car to kiss her (just because they can) and his fingers are locked tightly around hers and the whole world is a little bit hazy.

But doubts about the future threaten to creep back in, and every so often, he'll look over at her and smile a little before telling her to "Stop thinking."

He really does know her.

And that thought is somewhat terrifying in itself, that she can be so completely open with this boy and that he's not running away. But then again, neither is she.

_What do you want, Ally?_

She briefly sees flashes of sandy blonde hair and hears his voice singing next to her at the piano and feels his lips brush over hers, but she's hesitant to put a voice to it. Her eyes are heavy when they pull into her driveway and she realizes that she had been half dozing the last part of the trip. She rubs her eyes and looks around.

"We're here," he says.

"Right, home," she replies, seeing the one light on in her house and her dad pulling back the curtains and looking out the window. She's not so certain he is going to be okay with her for taking off like she did.

"So . . ." he says and she leans forward and kisses his cheek.

"How dare you?" he teases, before turning his head and catching her for a kiss. She responds for just a moment before she pulls back.

"I think my dad may be watching," she says.

"So let's give him a show?"

"Eww, Austin. No. No making out in front of my dad. Can we make that a rule?"

"Already starting in on rules, are we?" he asks sarcastically, but his eyes are mischievous.

"You know how I am a stickler for rules," she says, grinning.

"And you know how I love breaking them," he states, before kissing her again lightly.

Eventually, she lifts her hand, she has to, she knows this, and pulls the door handle and gets out.

"Hey Ally?" he says before she shuts the door.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the best day of my life."

* * *

Their first conversation after _that day_ goes like this:

"Hey."

"Hey."

And silence.

It's almost enough to make her think she dreamt the whole thing. Jet packs and butterflies and musical revelations and his lips on hers. Did all that really happen?

But then he takes a step closer to her and checks to make sure the practice room door is closed, before reaching up and gently touching one of her curls, weaving it through his fingers. She inhales sharply before quickly lifting her eyes to meet his and he's looking at her in a way she has never seen before and yeah, it really happened. It really _is_ happening.

They decide not to tell anyone right away. He's concerned with what it might do to their group dynamic and she agrees with him (although she has no idea how to even begin keeping this from Trish).

They don't label it, because really aren't they past all that? She saves him the awkward _Willyoubemygirlfriend_ and she doesn't do the whole demure and innocent _Ofcourse_ while blushing, because really, that's never been their style. Instead, she tells him how maybe they are finally at the place they were supposed to be all along.

He nods. "I know that place well," he says. "And I know where you belong, Ally. It's next to me up on that stage."

She sighs. She knew that conversation wasn't over but she didn't think it would return so soon.

"Austin. . ."

"No, hear me out. I want you next to me; I want, I need to sing with you. And I think deep down, you know that you need and want it too."

Sometimes it annoys her how well he knows her.

"I do," she says, softly, because at this point, she might as well be honest with him. "I just don't know if I can."

He thinks for a moment. "What can I do to help you?"

She steps a little closer to him and wraps her fingers around his wrist, "Start slow?"

"Slow. I can do that."

He turns on the recording equipment, leads her back to the piano and picks up his guitar and together they record the song they sang at the pub. There's no audience, but there's still magic when his voice perfectly aligns with hers and she thinks she finally understands the meaning of the word _symmetry_.

* * *

"Don't be mad," is what he says when she opens her front door a week later.

"Okay. . ."

She opens the door wider and lets him in.

He holds up a flyer that reads 'USA Songwriting Competition' and says "I entered our song."

"Which song?"

"Our song."

She grabs the flyer out of his hands and scans over it.

"You submitted it."

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me."

He looks down and she can tell he's actually feeling a little guilty. For about a nanosecond. Then he's right back to being Austin. "No."

"Wait, which category did you submit it under?"

"Folk."

"Folk."

"Yeah. It's not a pop song."

"But you sing pop songs."

"I know. I just . . . it doesn't fit there."

She narrows her eyes a bit and sits down on the stairs in her entryway. "What's going on, Austin?"

He sits next to her before he begins. "I love 'Song for You.'"

"I know, I do too, but I don't understand—" she interrupts but stops when she sees the look he is giving her. She needs to let him finish. She recognizes things like this now.

"I can't explain it Ally. It's just that when I am singing that song with you, I feel complete. You know how hard I've been working to create a sound that is just me. Not some Bieber clone or Timberlake-lite. I need my own sound and I think I've finally found it," he states, and he actually looks a little nervous about what she might say.

"So you want to sing folk music. Pick up the banjo and learn to play the spoons?" she asks.

"No, not that necessarily . . . although I _would_ rock the banjo," he laughs. "I just want to take a few steps away from pop. Maybe explore the type of music that you write and sing when you think no one is listening."

"You hear those songs?" she asks quietly. They had always been her own personal reflections.

"Yeah," he says. "And I love them."

She lets that sink in for a moment. "So you submitted our song."

"Yeah."

"What now?"

"You're not mad?" he questions.

She shakes her head. "You said we would work on this together. And we're going slow. There's nothing for me to be mad about."

He reaches out and touches her knee, rubbing his thumb over her kneecap.

"So what now?" she echoes again.

"Now we record some more. I want to do an album."

"An album," she asks, trying to mask her disbelief.

"Yup. Me, you and this sound."

"What about your fans? They know you as pop star Austin Moon . . ." she says and for the first time, she actually feels as though she may be holding him back.

"Well, I guess they'll need to get reacquainted with me. And they'll need to meet you."

It's terrifying and makes her breath catch in her throat, but when she looks at him and she feels the perfect rhythm that his thumb keeps as it moves back and forth, back and forth over her knee, a stabilizing force in the midst of all this change, she thinks that maybe it will all be okay.

* * *

"So what do you think?" he asks hopefully as the preliminary version of the song finishes streaming from the speakers.

Dez looks confused.

Trish doesn't say anything.

He shoots her a concerned look. This is not usual. Well, Dez is often confused, but Trish . . . Trish has an opinion for everything and she's not saying any of it. She is just standing there , staring at the stereo and stroking the feathers covering her enormous hat ("Guess who got a job at 'Feathers and Leathers!'" she had announced the week before, insisting it was not as dirty as it sounded).

"Trish?" she asks, touching her arm which seems to bring her back to reality.

And then Trish stars breathing really loudly and talking really fast. "Okay, okay. This is not a big deal. My client, my only client who I have seen rise to _stardom_ in the greater Miami area has had a breakdown. Eighteen-years-old and the pressure is just too much. It happens all the time. Look at Hendrix, Winehouse, Lohan. I get it. It's bound to happen to the best of them. What's next? We can make this work. Maybe a sold-out tour of nursing homes up and down the east coast?" she laughing and panicking and neither of them know how to do anything to stop it.

"Who's the girl singing with you? She sounds really good," Dez asks unfazed.

"It's me," she says.

They all turn and look at her before Trish and Dez burst out laughing.

"But you don't sing in front of people," Trish says, between gasps for air.

"And you don't sing with people," Dez says to him and she suddenly remembers that the two of them have been having these really important conversations lately and making pretty significant decisions about well, everything, and their two best friends haven't been privy to any of it.

So of course all of this would seem ridiculous.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asks him and the two of them leave the practice room and make their way out of the store.

"That could have gone better," he mutters.

"I know, but they weren't there, Austin. They don't get it," she says.

He breathes out. "Should we tell them everything?" he asks.

Everything is a big word. "I don't know. What do you think?"

He smirks and says "It'd be easier to kiss you whenever I want."

She moves closer to him so that her shoulder and hipbone and leg are pressed up against his. "What, you don't like sneaking around?"

"No, I do. I do. I just—he's my best friend, Ally," he says quietly and she realizes that it's been as hard for him to keep this from Dez as it has been for her to keep it from Trish.

"Let's tell them. I mean, they're gonna figure it out eventually anyway. I don't know if you've realized this, but you're kind of stuck with me," she states, with a small laugh. It's a promise of sorts and for once she doesn't hear the future chanting in her head.

He doesn't laugh though, but instead looks at her with his serious face, the one that she only sees occasionally (although it's been happening more and more, hasn't it, and she realizes that they somehow grew up when she wasn't looking).

Brushing his thumb along her right cheekbone, he says "Good."

* * *

Trish flips out, of course.

Dez sits down and cries.

"I just ate an onion, okay?" he says, pulling a half-eaten onion from his pocket and wiping his eyes.

"It's not going to change anything," she says.

Trish stops squealing long enough to say, "What are you talking about? It already has."

"What?" she asks.

"Austin's new song. Well, yours too I guess. It's different. And now you guys are together and you can't tell me those two things aren't connected," Trish states.

She looks at him and he shrugs. "Maybe?" he says.

She pulls him aside and says "I thought we didn't want anything to change. We were worried about that."

"Ally, you've been changing me since the day we met," he says, but she knows she still looks concerned. "Hey, we're finally where we were supposed to be all along, remember?" he says, quoting her.

"Right," she whispers. "I just don't want people to think I ruined your music career. I don't want to be your Yoko."

He laughs out loud at that.

"You could never be my Yoko. If anything, you're my Paul. Only a lot cuter and you know, a girl."

She nods and brushes the palm of his hand with her fingers.

"Is this the sort of PDA we're going to have to sit through all the time now?" Trish asks loudly.

She springs back and manages to hit a large cymbal off of its shelf. It clamors to the floor with a bang and Dez starts to laugh through his tears. Then Trish joins in. And then it's just hysterics all around and he gives her a slight nod and she sees that maybe they didn't really need to be concerned. This group that they've formed, each with their individual roles and polarizing personalities is crazy (Dez) and neurotic (her) and haphazardly ambitious (Trish) and passionate (him) and they just _work_.

* * *

"Okay, one more step. Left foot. Austin, that's your right!" she says as she guides him through the doorway. The blindfold keeps slipping but she makes him promise to keep his eyes closed.

"What are we doing, Ally?" he asks. "I know we're in the practice room."

"Yes, we are."

"So what's the big deal?"

"It's a surprise, so stop asking questions," she states. She sits him in a chair and finds the plug.

Retrieving the bowl from the fridge, she places a light squirt of oil onto the surface and makes three small circles of batter.

He starts sniffing the air.

"Ally. . ."

"Shh! No talking, no guessing, or no surprise," she commands.

After a few minutes, she flips the cakes, checking to make sure each side is perfectly golden brown. She flips them onto a plate and approaches him.

"Okay, you can take the blindfold off now."

He does and he looks at her and then at the plate full of pancakes she is holding and then back at her again.

"You made me pancakes."

"Mmhmm."

"Here in our practice room."

"Yes."

"On that griddle."

"Our new practice room griddle," she says, fighting back a smile.

"For me," he says and his grin is so wide she's not sure how his face isn't splitting in two.

"Oh for goodness sake, Austin, are you going to eat these or am I going to have to eat them for you?"

He grabs the plate then, and also her arm and pulls her close to him. She's not prepared for it though and so she ends up crashing into his chest.

"Hi there," he says.

"Hi," she says back.

She kisses him then and it's the first time she's started it and she can tell he's a little surprised. He's used to being in the lead but now it's her turn. She presses into him and he's so much taller than her that he doesn't even move. She likes how he can almost completely envelop her and how she can get lost in him. She opens up her mouth a little more and she feels him groan just a little bit and it sends shivers down her spine. She could get used to this.

He pulls back after a few moments.

"You're such a tease," he says and she scoffs.

"I'm serious. You make my favorite food in the world and then kiss me like that? Come on. How am I supposed to choose?" he questions.

She thinks for a moment and then steps closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder and standing on her tiptoes so that her mouth is right next to his ear. "There's more batter in the fridge, but it will keep," she whispers and he drops the plate, picks her up and carries her to the couch where he hovers over her and she pulls him closer as his hands run up and down her sides and the pancakes are momentarily forgotten.

* * *

"Read the track listing to me again," she says as she pulls his sweatshirt more tightly around her.

"'Song for You,' 'Down in the Valley,' 'Where You Are,' 'Lakehouse,' 'A Little Bit of Everything,' 'About Today' and 'Wonder,'" he reads.

He sits down at the piano next to her.

"You smell like me," he states.

"Well this is your sweatshirt," she says not looking up from the lyrics she is writing.

"I want that back, you know."

She shakes her head. "I decided I was keeping it a week ago."

"Oh, we do that now?" he asks.

She looks up then. "Yes. We do," she says, her eyes challenging him. "Besides it looks better on me," she states, standing and posing so that he can get a more complete look at her.

She knows it's not true. It actually looks ridiculous on her since it reaches her knees and she is forced to roll up the sleeves three times to be able to free her hands enough to get to the piano keys.

He doesn't say anything though, so she stops posing and turns back to him.

"I don't want to go to Eastman," he blurts out as if he has been holding onto this fact for a very long time.

"What?"

"I don't want to go. I've been thinking about this a lot lately and it's just going to be classical music and all this training and so much practicing and I just—"

"Austin," she says forcefully and he stops talking. "What's going on? Why don't you want to go? Honestly."

"Honestly? Because I want to stay here."

"In Miami."

"Yes. With. . ."

He trails off then, because it feels like a kind of big proclamation, that one of them would be willing to change their entire life plan for the other.

Would she do it? Adjust her plan. Change Berklee. Possibly alter the direction of everything.

Up until this point she had been taking his advice to _stop thinking_ but it's mid-August and if he's thinking about it, then she really can't be in denial anymore, can she?

She sinks to the floor and says, "It was always going to come down to this, wasn't it?" and she knows he can tell she's freaking out a bit.

So he grabs an unmarked sheet of staff paper and sits next to her. "Okay, right now. We make a list of what we want. No judgments or anything. And we see what we can make happen."

She's skeptical, so he says, "I'll start."

He writes quickly and hands her the paper and pencil. In his thin scrawl she sees "More time with Team Austin," "To keep learning how to write songs," "To create my perfect, distinctive sound," and because he is still Austin, "Ice cream." Thinking for only a moment, she writes in the space that could belong to a middle C note, "To finish our album," and hands it back to him.

He looks at her surprised when he reads it. "I want that too."

"We have a week; do you think we can finish it?"

"I don't know."

She's not sure either. There's not a lot of time left and there's still a lot more they would need to do. "Should we even try?" she asks.

He smirks. "Yeah we should. Do you have anything going on tomorrow?"

"No, why?"

"Fire up the griddle, Lucy," he says in his best Ricky Ricardo voice as he stands, offering her his hand. "We're pulling an all nighter."

She manages to eat four pancakes. He eats eleven. They write an entire song and record it and she curls up next to him on the couch around five a.m. and it's just like the night of their graduation. Even though some things have changed (like how she now knows the contours of his torso and that he likes to kiss her the first time he sees her every day and that of the two of them, he'll always be the dreamer, but that she's learning quickly how to desire big, meaningful things), she realizes that she still has no idea how to let go of the boy sleeping next her.

* * *

Their last week of summer is chaotic, full of song rewrites, practices, and dorm shopping (for him, of course; all of her school supplies had been purchased for months).

"That is the ugliest comforter I have ever seen," she says when he holds up one of his options. "I should just knit you a blanket."

The look on his face is priceless.

"You—you don't have to do that," he stutters and she laughs.

"Don't worry, I won't." Knitted items were never his style and she hasn't had much free time lately anyway. She thinks she's probably out of practice and briefly wonders what else she has sacrificed in pursuit of their music.

"Want to get dinner tonight?" she asks later as they are checking out.

"I promised my mom and dad I would eat with them. I think they are getting all weird that I'm going to be gone," he answers.

"I have kind of been monopolizing your time lately," she says, grinning.

"You should leave Wednesday night open," he replies as they head for his car.

"Why?" she asks.

"Well you leave Thursday morning so it's our last night . . ."

"Yeah, we're not talking about that yet. It's two days away."

"Ally."

She shakes her head. "No. We still have four songs to record and I still have packing to do and if I don't acknowledge it, then it won't happen, right?"

He hugs her then in the middle of the parking lot. "What did I tell you the night of graduation?"

"That we stay together."

"Right."

"But how do we do that?" she questions, stepping away from him.

"I still don't know," he says, kicking a small pebble with his shoe.

And here is something she doesn't want to admit: it's not that she doesn't know _how_ to let go of him. She does. It'd actually be easier. To just fly away to school and stop answering emails and texts and avoid writing music together and just call this what it is, a short beautiful moment in her still mostly unexplored eighteen-year-old life.

The thing is, she doesn't want to. She may have written that what she wants most is to finish their album, and she does want that, but what she wants even more is to be able to freeze time, to exist for as long as she can in this _thing_ that they have created, this complex structure where partner and love and music all intertwine together to form something beautiful, something she has come to need, something she has come to know as home.

He grins at her from the driver's seat and taps his fingers on the steering wheel, mouthing all of the words to Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright," and it's a scene so perfect that she forces herself to look away. Because in forty-eight hours, she'll be asked not only to look away but to walk away, and she'll do it, won't she? Completely and absolutely, with hardly a glance back. After all, Ally Dawson is nothing if not a perfectionist.

* * *

End of Part Two.

* * *

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love to all._


	3. Made It Back to a Place We Call Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Austin & Ally. Title is from Goo Goo Dolls' "All that You Are." The song mentioned is Jenny & Tyler's "Song for You," which is completely amazing, and embodies everything I think Austin and Ally would be a few years in the future. The song lyrics included in this chapter are from Katie Herzig and Matthew Perryman Jones' "Where the Road Meets the Sun," which is one of my favorites. I highly recommend.

The last day comes.

And of course it's a Wednesday. It always has been the worst day of the week, she concludes, stuck somewhere in the middle, neither holding the promise of a fresh, new week nor opening the door for the exciting possibilities of the weekend.

She's zipping her suitcase shut when he knocks on the frame of her bedroom door.

"Hey."

She looks at him, leaning against her door as if he's always been there and in some ways, he has. Even when he was on the outskirts of her life, the cocky blonde boy playing a trumpet within a trumpet and trying to make her face her stage fright on national television, he has always been present in some aspect. And he wasn't the only one changed by that first day they met.

He walks over and kisses her like they have become accustomed to doing. But this kiss tastes different and they both know it.

"All packed?" he asks.

"Yes. You?"

"Of course not. I don't leave till tomorrow afternoon," he says and she opens her mouth to scold him but stops herself.

"So what's the plan then?"

"Well, what would you like to do?"

"Record some more?" she asks. Despite their best efforts, their album isn't completed.

"I don't think we're gonna finish it," he says and it's a realization they both knew was coming, but it still hurts to hear.

"I know," she says quietly.

"We could go to the beach?" he suggests.

She nods. "Call Trish and Dez? Unless you want it to be just us?"

"Nah, let's call them. It's gonna be a while before we're all back here again."

A couple hours and two bags of marshmallows later, she watches her three best friends toss a frisbee as the sun lowers in the distance. It's one of those moments that she places in her permanent memory as she notices the lyrical sound of Trish's laughter and the impressive technique of Dez's sand dives that he somehow manages to execute perfectly and the warmth and intensity of Austin's smile when he looks at her.

After a while, Trish and Dez decide to go for a swim, so he joins her at the campfire.

"You okay?" he asks.

She nods. "Perfect."

"Good."

"Do you remember when you taught me how to drive?" she asks.

"Yeah," he snorts. "One of the most terrifying experiences of my life. What brought that up?"

"Nothing. It was just the day I realized that I might feel something more for you than I had before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You were yelling at me to keep the wheel straight and to slow down and I was panicking a bit, but then you stopped yelling, because did you honestly think _yelling_ would help me? and you said, 'Ally you can do this. Eyes on the road and even breathing.' And so I kept my eyes on the road and focused on keeping my breathing steady and everything just clicked. The wheel was straight and I stopped jerking the pedal so much and I recognized that you have this effect on me. I'm not even sure you realize it. When everything is moving around me and it's blurry and confusing because I'm not moving, I'm just standing still . . . it's then that I realize you're standing right next to me. And that because you're there, I don't want to be anywhere else," she finishes.

He stares as the water for a minute. "That day feels like a long time ago."

"Yeah it does."

"What if we didn't have to leave tomorrow?" he says quietly, turning his body to face her.

"What?"

"I mean, I don't want to be hundreds of miles away from you."

"Me either," she says.

"And our album isn't done."

"I know."

"And I have this crazy, seriously all-out insane, idea," he says, excitement sneaking into his voice.

"Okay. . ."

"What if we just didn't go?" he asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Didn't go? To _college_ ," she asks, not even masking her skepticism, her voice enunciating every word carefully.

"Yeah, at least right now."

"You want to defer college? Eastman. Berklee. Our whole future careers?"

He nods, but his serious face has returned. "Yeah," he says quietly, before looking down at his hands. "Crazy, right?"

"What would we do instead?" she asks, biting her lip.

"Finish our album. I want to go on tour and I want to get these songs on the radio and I don't know what else . . . And I get that this is last minute and, like I said kind of insane, but it just feels like the right thing to do." She looks at him and realizes that she actually knows him as well as he knows her. And that even though he may say that he knows this is the right thing, he is still a bit unsure.

She's unsure, too. Could she seriously be considering this?

 _Think, Ally_ , she wills herself. She needs clarity because this is probably one of the biggest decisions she will ever make and she needs to stop focusing on the sand between her toes or the way the smoke from the fire dances around them and the fact that they are eighteen and shouldn't be trusted to make big life decisions.

Although.

He's always been a big life decision for her, hasn't he? Becoming his partner, writing his material, performing with him, being in a relationship with him, and now . . . now becoming his musical counterpart in every sense of the word. These things are big and important and she knows she should stick to the plan, but in all of the ways that matter, the plan just doesn't matter.

 _The plan just doesn't matter_. It's a difficult discovery, one that will take a while to get used to as all of the preparations she has meticulously made, all of the glossy brochures she poured over for months and the pro-con lists she scripted delineating differences in student life and dorms and program offerings suddenly seem like _not enough_. Because if she's honest, really honest with herself, she knows that this foreign idea that has invaded her mind and lodged itself deep in her brain, somewhere between her common sense and her emotional core, is true.

"Okay," she says, so softly he doesn't hear her at first. "Okay."

He looks quickly at her. "Okay?"

She nods and notices that his face, a mixture of poise and also trepidation, mirrors hers. This is the quickest she's ever made a decision, meaning there's a very good chance it is completely the wrong one, but when she looks at him and thinks about what this next year might mean for their music and for the connection between the two of them, she decides that this, all of it, it's worth it.

"Okay, okay. We do this. Skip out on college for a year, just a year. Finish our album and try to get signed and just make this music thing happen." He exhales loudly and she does too (she hadn't realized she was holding her breath). "Also, there's this," he says, pulling a white letter from his back pocket.

She is momentarily confused until she sees the "USA Songwriting Competition" insignia in the upper left hand corner of the envelope.

"What did they say?" she asks.

"I didn't read it yet. I wanted to read it together." He places his finger under the flap and slides it open before taking out the letter.

"'Dear Mr. Moon and Ms. Dawson,'" he reads aloud, "'It is my pleasure to inform you that your piece, "Song for You" has placed second in the folk category of our competition. We were impressed with the depth of your lyrical prose and'—Ally," he says, trailing off, "we placed. In an international song competition." He stands up and his eyes are shining and she stands too.

She should have more words, she knows this. This is a really big thing and it's taken them a long time to get to here and she is fully feeling the significance of this situation, so much so that she just stands opposite of him and can't look away. Her grin is so wide it almost hurts and shakes her head just a little because of course he would make this happen for them. Of course. He's always seen the possibilities of _what if_ before she could even dream of them.

He doesn't look away either, but hands her the letter and she finishes reading it. "'You are cordially invited to attend our annual concert, where you will have the opportunity to perform your award-winning song. Enclosed you will find more details. Congratulations again, Edward Hoffster, USA Songwriting Competition Chair.'"

He still doesn't say anything, before quickly closing the distance between them, picking her up and spinning her around.

"Austin!'' she shrieks. "Put me down!"

"Can't. We're spinning."

"I know that," she says and she trying so hard to sound stern, but really, she's laughing.

Trish and Dez finally join them on the beach and say "What's going on?"

"Spinning," he says, finally setting her down.

Dez looks over at Trish, opens his arms and says, "Wanna hop on?" for which she shakes her head and replies, "Not even if spinning with you meant the difference between a long and successful life and a torturous and excruciating death."

Dez looks back at them, "Yeah, she loves me."

Trish doesn't deny it but Ally can't dwell on that for too long because, like everything in her life since that day in Key West, there's change coming and his arms are wrapped around her and _they have won._ And even though the next twenty-four hours are probably going to be terrible (disappointed faces, disappointed tones, minor chords surrounding and threatening to overwhelm her), she knows the sun will set and rise again and that everything will look more real in the bright morning light.

* * *

She's right. The next hours are pretty much some of the worst of her life.

Together they refund their plane tickets and email their respective colleges and save their parents for last.

Around four a.m., he texts her. _Are you awake? Come outside._

She finds him in her driveway leaning against his car and he looks like she feels: as if they've been to hell and back.

She doesn't say anything, but just stands in front of him and he rests his forehead against hers as they listen to the crickets chirping and the quiet hum of the thruway, a couple streets over.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?"she whispers.

He smiles a bit and says, "Yeah, we really are."

"My dad is so mad at me."

"My parents, too."

"He doesn't care that we're only deferring for a year. He says I am going to forever regret giving up my dreams for some boy," she quotes and sees him wince at her words. "And he _likes_ you. I can't even imagine what your dad must being saying about me."

"I'm not going to repeat it," he says, pulling back. "He can be one of the most horrible human beings on this planet and yet I don't know how to stop wanting him to be proud of me."

She knows his relationship with his dad is strained at best, a dysfunctional mix of stress and approval-seeking, and not at all how it should be.

Which makes her feel even worse about what she's doing to her dad. Her dad who has worked so hard to make her dream of Berklee a reality and has loved her unconditionally and has tried, has at least made an effort to understand her visions of a musical career.

Austin hasn't even had that support and yet he's still willing to make these sacrifices for their music, for her really, and right now, she knows she needs to give everything that she possibly can to him.

They drive back to the beach, the one where only hours before they made these life-altering choices and they lay on the hood of his car, her head resting on his arm, as the easy rhythm of the lapping waves provides the soundtrack of the moment.

"We're gonna be okay, you know," she says, surprised as the words come out of her mouth. He's the encourager, not her. He's the one who believes anything is possible, not her. But maybe, maybe she can be that for him now.

"I know," he says. "It'll blow over."

"You told your dad about the songwriting contest, right?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

"He didn't deserve to know," he says quietly.

"But maybe it would help?"

He pauses for a moment before stating, "I don't think anything will really help, Ally. He needs time to accept that this is what I'm doing. I can give him that at least."

She doesn't know how to fix this; there's nothing she can do really and she hates that feeling. So, she lifts her head up just a bit and kisses him softly and he responds instantly.

"I am so glad that we aren't saying goodbye right now," he says, between kisses.

"Me too." She doesn't say how she never really found it within herself to let go of him. Because together, they've effectively removed that option, taken it off the table, changed the direction of everything. She leans more fully over him and her feet intertwine with his and she can feel him smile against her mouth and everyone may be disappointed and honestly, they might be making the biggest mistake of their lives, but she's positive she's supposed to be right here.

* * *

"You ready?" he asks.

"Um. . ."

"You are," he reassures her. "It's just you and me and this small piece of technology."

"And me!" Dez says from behind the camera lens.

"Not helping," he states. "It's not live, so no one's even going to see you perform until after we're done. Not a big deal; you can do this."

"Ready?" he asks again after a short moment.

She's nervous and kind of feels like she can't breathe, but they've given up everything for this, so she has to be ready. There's no going back now. She nods and Dez hits 'record.'

"Hi guys. I'm Austin Moon! Welcome to my newest video. Before we start, I wanted to let you guys know about something I'm really excited about. I've been singing by myself for a long time now, using songs written by my partner Ally Dawson. She writes amazing songs and has an even more amazing voice and so, starting today, we will be singing together. We'll still be performing some of the songs she's written the past couple of years, ones that you guys know well, but we're also going to be working on some new songs that we've written together. Which brings me to the next thing I am excited about: Ally and I have just completed the last song on our new album. We're working on recording and producing it for you and hope to have new music to you very soon. In the meantime, we thought we would sing one of our new songs," he says, before turning to look at her. He winks and she knows it's going to be fine.

"This one is called 'Where the Road Meets the Sun.'" He starts playing the first few chords and she knows Dez has turned the camera on her because she sings first, but she doesn't look at it, instead focusing on the way the music makes her feel and that she is singing, _she is singing_ , with her best friend.

So she opens her mouth and her voice comes from somewhere deep inside.

_Angel wings spread over water-worn wishes  
Guarding the dreams and the things left unsaid  
Here we are wandering, aimlessly roaming  
Lovers who linger and never forget_

He joins in, his voice a little bit rugged and an octave lower.

And when it's done,

_We will walk where the road meets the sun_

She loves the way this song feels like a waltz, a private dance between the two of them, as their voices trade off melodies and harmonies. The piano part reminds her of a music box she had when she was a little girl; the twinkling sound of the keys a perfect counterbalance to the smooth circles the tiny ballerina danced when the box was opened. She spent hours listening to that melody, a melody that has now matured and evolved into something new. Just like she has.

_Don't disappear_

She sings by herself.

_Darlin', I want you_

He echoes behind her.

_Don't leave me here_

She begins again.

_And when the day comes_

He follows.

_I'll meet you here_

She sings, looking right at him, a promise of the place they've always been able to find each other.

Their voices come back together now. _  
'Cause I know that wishes come true  
Finding my way back to you_

_Angel wings spread over water-worn wishes  
Guarding the dreams and the things left unsaid_

_And when it's done,_

_We will walk where the road meets the sun_

She starts playing louder now. The music swells around them, as the melody builds and builds.

_And when it's done,_

_We will walk where the road meets the sun_

He sings alone as she echoes, one, two, three times, their voices moving and overlapping as if they belonged to only one person.

_Where the road meets the sun_

He finishes as she holds her final chord.

Neither of them moves until Dez says, "Done."

She gives a small shrug and he nods.

Dez is watching the playback so they join him and when it finishes, he says "Guys, that was really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean I've made a lot of videos for you the past couple of years and although this one is completely lacking in overall narrative plot and special effects and props, my man, props! I actually don't want to change a single thing about it," Dez concludes.

"Really?" she asks.

"Yeah," Dez says, scratching his head. "I don't get it either. There's just something about it that works. We should post it just as it is."

He reaches over and squeezes her hand then and she suddenly really wishes that Trish hadn't managed to talk her way into UCLA so that she could be here to tell her that Dez is right, that this is just how it is supposed to be (and so they could watch girly movies while talking about Austin and whether or not Trish will ever admit to whatever is going on with her and Dez).

Twenty minutes later the video is uploaded and Dez suggests ice cream.

"Don't you have class?" Austin asks, reminding Dez that he had started classes at the nearby community college.

"Nah, it's Tuesday. I don't have classes on Tuesdays."

"It's Monday, Dez," she says as he eyes grow wide and he takes off running, taking out a mall palm tree in the process and dragging it with him out the door.

They are both still laughing as they arrive at the ice cream store.

"Well, you did it," he says as they stand in line.

"Mmhmm. Who knows what else I'll be able to do? Maybe sing at a certain songwriting concert. . ."

"Really?" he asks, his voice hopeful.

She had been very hesitant about singing in the songwriting competition concert, since most of those in the audience would be seasoned performers and she is the opposite of that. But she also knew he wasn't going to go without her and that this was important to him and that it would be a big step for her in overcoming her stage fright.

"Peanut Butter Chip," she orders. "And he'll have a Panda Paws."

"How'd you know that?"

"You're my boyfriend. I know what your favorite kind of ice cream is," she states.

"And what if I was going to get something crazy like White Lightening or Bittersweet Sinphony?"

She shoots him a look. This really is too easy. "You hate dark chocolate, so there's no way you'd order White Lightening. And you drink coffee but you don't like coffee flavored things. So Bittersweet Sinphony is out too."

The waitress hands them their cones and she pays quickly before they sit down.

He narrows his eyes. "What do I like on my hot dogs?"

"Depends. If it's summer time you usually like the works: mustard, ketchup, relish. If it's fall or winter you're a straight-up ketchup kind of guy," she answers.

"Favorite basketball team?"

"Miami Heat."

"When I was six?"

"Um, Chicago Bulls?" she questions. She knows that before moving to Miami, his family had lived in Chicago.

"Hmm. Well played," he says.

She leans forward a little bit and teases, "Let's face it, Moon. I know you." She scrunches her nose up at him quickly before settling back down in her seat and working to stop all of the ice cream canals burrowing down her cone.

He leans forward too. "And let's face it, Dawson. I love you."

"What?" she says, looking up from her ice cream at him.

He's staring at the table. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out—um like that, because it—um I just. . ."

And he looks so adorable, stumbling over his words and she knows that he just used three really important ones so she leans forward again and grabs the tie hanging loosely around his neck and kisses him. He tastes like fudge and vanilla and his mouth is a little bit sticky and his tongue a little bit cold. The table is pressing into her middle and she can't seem to get close enough to him, so she moves back and slides out of the booth grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the store. She dumps her cone in the trash on the way and is practically running back to the store and up to the practice room, leading him, pulling him.

She shuts the door quickly behind them and presses him up against it and he looks a little bit nervous because she's not usually like this, but that's just it. She's not usually like this and she likes this new side of her that he has brought out. This person who is willing to take risks and postpone college and chase after her dream and actually find ways to get it. This person who is pressed completely up against her boyfriend and kissing him so hard that he's kissing (but really almost fighting) back and his hands are everywhere at once and hers are tracing small patterns on the skin of his lower back beneath his shirt. And they've never gone this far before (his hands directly on her skin, electrifying every part he touches and her mouth on his neck and his chest pressed so closely up against hers that she can feel his uneven and erratic breathing, so irregular and unpredictable that it actually matches her own) and she can't for the life of her figure out why they've waited this long to just _let go_.

After a few minutes, his shirt is discarded somewhere and so is hers and they're on the couch and she can't help but think about those songs they always sing. The ones about love and that feeling that overwhelms and consumes and is _everything_.

Because she thinks that she finally understands the things she had always been writing about. They had always been there, wrapped up in the mop-headed blonde boy who is whispering _I love you_ against her collarbone as her eyes flutter closed.

Eventually they stop (because even though she is changing and become more fully herself, she's not sure she's ready for _that_ step yet) and instead she uses her fingertips to draw a melody on his stomach, eighth notes and syncopated rhythms and he kisses her forehead and just smiles.

* * *

They start preparing for the concert the next day.

He pull up outside of her house and she leaves in the middle of her dad's rant about how she's wasting her time/life/dreams/fill in the blank, she's heard it five hundred times before in the weeks since she deferred Berklee.

She gets in the car and the look on his face reminds her that he's seen her almost half naked and she's momentarily embarrassed until he kisses her and then she realizes that she really doesn't have to be, because it's _him._

"Did you check YouTube?" he asks as he turns off of her street.

"No, I didn't want to know what they were saying about it."

He smirks at little. "You should. Let's just say that I'm not Ally Dawson's only fan anymore." He hands her his phone and she starts browsing through the comments on their video.

_This is amazing._

_Wow, I love the new sound._

_This is different, but I like it._

_You guys sound really good together._

_Who's the hot brunette?_

"What?" she exclaims out loud.

He chuckles. "Got to the hot brunette comment? There's a few more like that on there."

"It's just weird."

He shakes his head. "No, it's accurate."

She blushes a bit then and bites back a smile as he drives.

They spend the morning practicing "Song for You" and video chatting with Trish, who is on her third business at college, perfecting the art of "scamming young co-eds out of their parents' money" she says proudly.

They play the song for her and she nods and says, "That really is it."

"What is?" she asks.

"That's the song I always knew you guys could write. I know I kind of freaked out before when you played it, but it really is perfect. I wish I could be there to see you perform it," she looks at Ally then. "On stage. In front of thousands of people. Watching you. " She laughs, well cackles really.

"Trish!" he exclaims.

But she just shakes her head at her best friend. "Nice try, Trish. I am getting better about this you know."

"I know. I was just teasing. Just remember who gave you your first big break. Well, I should probably go. I have a class to skip."

"Trish . . ." she says, her motherly tone creeping into her voice.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I'll go. Tell Dez I want my monkey back."

"Huh?" he says.

"He'll know what it means. Bye guys. Love you!" she shouts as she clicks her video feed off.

"Oh, Trish," she says.

"She's still Trish," he replies and she can tell by the way that he says it that he is missing the spirited energy that Trish brought to their group. She is, too.

Trying to shake off her momentary sadness, she walks back to the piano and says, "Run it again?"

He nods and they practice the song several more times before branching out to their more recent songs and getting lost in the musical world they have built together.

* * *

They go to the concert alone.

Dez has a group project and Austin's parents are still in denial about the whole situation and she left the flyer announcing the show on her kitchen table in hopes that her dad might find it, but he never said anything, so yeah. This whole thing started during one extremely long night in the Sonic Boom, when they were fifteen and kind of stupid and it was just the two of them, so it's somewhat poetic that now, when they've grown up and made adult decisions and are learning to live with adult consequences (and some advantages), that it would come right back to the two of them.

(She still wishes her dad was here to see them.)

He hugs her tightly when their names are called and doesn't let go of her hand until he absolutely has to and the first strokes of his guitar make her pulse speed up and her heart race but she begins to sing like they have practiced so many times before and it turns out to be their best performance of the song that has come to mean so much to both of them.

_For I have loved you_

_Open your heart, open your heart_

_For I have loved you from the start_

She sings the final line and as the applause rises up from the audience below her, she only sees him, beaming brighter than any stage lights. He really was born for this and when he turns to look at her, she realizes that maybe she was too.

And that all of their crazy adventures in the mall and the early musical squabbles that threatened their blossoming partnership and all of the growing together they have done has lead them to this stage, to this moment, to this place where she realizes that she does love him. That she has loved him for a long, long time now.

It's a simple moment, really, and she recognizes that the two great loves of her life, music and him, are actually only one great love, so intertwined and tangled together that they could never be separated. That she would never want them to be.

They walk calmly off the stage and save the freakouts for the offstage wing as they silently scream and dance and he kisses her and she mouths the words _Thank you_ as she places her hand over his heart.

"Ally," he says then quietly, as to not disrupt the next onstage performer, nodding in the direction behind her.

She turns around and sees her dad standing there.

"Ally-cat," her dad says softly, before she launches herself into his arms.

* * *

The doorbell on his house is shrill and lasts far too long, but she rings it anyway.

His mom answers. "Oh, hello Ally."

"Hi Mrs. Moon. Is he home?"

Mrs. Moon sighs. "Yes, I think he's up in his room. Do you remember which one is his?"

She can't help but wince at his mother's words. Of course she knows which room belongs to him. She hates thinking about how far removed from his life his parents still consider her and how easily they dismiss her as just a passing phase. It makes her homesick even though she's only a short distance from her house.

She knocks on his door and enters when he calls "Come in."

"Hey."

He gets up off his bed and walks over to greet her, tossing his phone aside. "Hey yourself. What's up?"

She looks back at the door and he sighs, just like his mother did earlier. Although he may resemble his dad, he has more of his mom's mannerisms. It makes her sad that she is only now discovering this.

He's always been good at reading her expressions, though, so he asks, "What'd she do?"

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head. "I just know she doesn't like me very much."

"She does, Ally," he says, running a hand down her arm and finding her hand.

"No, it's okay. I'll make her like me. Eventually." She must have a determined look on her face because he begins laughing and says, "Whenever you set your mind on something. . ."

She grins at him and says after a beat, "That's not why I came." She sits down on his bed and reaches for her bag, pulling out her well-worn, well-loved brown journal.

He sits next to her and says, "Did you write a new song?"

"Not quite." She opens the book to a page near the very end (because three years of partnership and poetry capturing her every thought have caught up with her and even though her book has undergone several page transplants, it is still nearing the end). Slowly, she hands it to him, but he doesn't move.

"You want me to touch your book?" he asks.

"Yes."

"But it's your book."

"Yes," she says encouragingly.

"But you never let anyone touch your book."

"I know."

The expression on his face is a mixture of excitement, amusement and terror (she must have trained him well after all these years to never. touch. her. book.).

Finally she reaches out and takes one of his hands, placing it on the soft left side cover and letting go.

She points to a certain passage. "Start here."

He looks down and reads aloud,

_Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling so lonely  
I'm crazy, crazy for feeling so blue  
I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted  
And then someday you'd leave me for somebody new_

_Worry, why do I let myself worry?  
Wond'ring what in the world did I do?  
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you  
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying  
And I'm crazy for loving you_

_Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you  
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying  
And I'm crazy for loving you._

"Ally, those lyrics are so, so . . . sad. Did you write those?" he asks.

She smiles a small smile. "No, those were written by Patsy Cline. This was my mother's favorite song. Whenever I'm stuck trying to write a line or I feel like I want to be closer to her, I read these words or I sing this song and it just helps me. And you're right, the lyrics are terribly sad. But they're also beautiful in a way. Knowing something is completely insane and crazy and yet being willing to do it anyway. It's kind of how I feel about us and everything we've done the past couple of months."

She grows quiet then and looks down at her hands.

"Ally—"

"The thing is—" she clears her throat as she moves so that she is standing in front of him. "The thing is this. I love you Austin. I have for a long time and I know I've never told you before, and I should have because you've always been so open with me about your feelings." She reaches out and touches the book he is still holding. "But this is me. All of me. There's some pretty weird stuff in there, songs about my bird and the latte I had for breakfast two years ago that just really hit the spot and the way I refuse to wear green unless it's Earth Day or St. Patrick's Day and the fact that I think it would be really great to see the world's largest ball of yarn . . . and yeah, it's weird and kind of ridiculous but there's some really honest stuff in there too. Stuff about how much I still ache for my mom and how it seems like my dad will never return to the dad I knew before. Stuff about how I am terrified about the future and about how I have never felt the way I feel when I'm singing with you."

She steps closer to him. "And if you read between the lines, in between all the drama of the store and my stressing over schoolwork and my accounts of Trish and Dez's harebrained ideas and my struggles to write you the perfect song, you'll see me falling in love with you, little by little, day by day, lyric by lyric."

He reaches down and traces her cheek with his hand and she leans a little bit into his touch and they spend the rest of the afternoon reliving the past through her carefully crafted words.

And this time when she goes to leave, he says _I love you_ and she says it back.

* * *

They get the call a week later.

Her name is Marlo ("with an 'o'" she is quick to tell them) Wilkins and she works for Volume Volumus Records and she saw them at the songwriting competition and she wants to sign them.

Her dad goes with them to sign the contract and the ink is barely dry when she feels like she wants to cry.

Because they are real artists now. With a recording contract and studio time and she doesn't know what to do with any of it, but then again neither does he, so they stumble through it together.

Two months later, they have rerecorded their album with a producer and studio production values and a string quartet on two of their songs and she barely blinks when they take photos for the album cover (okay, she blinks a couple times. Maybe more than a couple. The photographer gets quite frustrated with her for a while, but eventually they land on the perfect shot and he gets so excited that he tells her all of her blinking is forgiven).

Marlo books them a tour and they get to bring Dez along for technical support and it's small clubs and tiny, tucked away pubs and she still feels like she's going to throw up every time they play a show but when she gets on stage and begins singing, all of that is forgotten.

They keep on like this for several months until their final show, near Phoenix. Trish drives up to see them, and after they finish playing, the four of them split appetizers and talk about the Sonic Boom and the summers they spent trying to help him make it big.

"Guess we were approaching it the wrong way," Trish says.

But he shakes his head. "Nah, we needed to do that to get to here."

She can't argue with that and she leans a little closer to him as his fingers play with the ends of her hair.

"What are you guys doing now that the tour is over?" Trish asks.

He looks at her and she looks at him.

"College, come fall," she says finally.

"You're going back to school?"

She nods and he looks away as Dez and Trish begin comparing their respective basket-weaving classes.

Later, she pulls him outside and says, "We have to go, you know."

"I know," he says quietly.

"That was the deal we made, with each other, with my dad."

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay. . ." she says, trying not to sound nervous.

He pulls out his phone and opens his email before handing it to her to read.

"'Dear Mr. Moon,

Congratulations on your acceptance to the Berklee College of Music. We look forward to welcoming you to campus in August. . .'"

"You transferred? What about Eastman?" she says, so surprised she's not sure how the words are even coming out.

"Did you really think I'd be going anywhere you aren't going?" he asks, stepping closer to her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"Are you kidding me right now?" she says, before clutching onto him so tightly that it's hard for him to breathe.

"No, I'm not," he says, holding her back.

"So we'll be together."

"Mmhmm."

"And we can keep recording."

"Yeah, Marlo said we might have to take a lighter course load to keep up with a few gigs and recording and promotional stuff, but yeah, we can keep doing all of it."

She thinks of what all of it has come to mean: the melodies and harmonies that she has come to find in his even breathing in the early morning and the way he moves his toothbrush in rhythm with hers as they stand side by side at the bathroom sink and the curve of his mouth when he says her name and the way that nothing in her life has turned out the way she expected it to, but that everything in her life has turned out the way it should.

She pulls back a bit and stands next to him as they look in the window of the pub at Trish and Dez laughing together.

"Do you think they are going to be some great story?" he asks.

She reaches out and takes his hand and she knows they aren't really talking about Trish and Dez.

"I think they already are."

* * *

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love to all._


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